The Fountain
by tallulah daze
Summary: Simple Elizabeth/Norrington vignette. Elizabeth is incredibly risque, James is quite literally out of his depth.


The sun blazed through the window of his carriage, making it feel as though he was in a hot house.  
James Norrington had known enough of cold, grey English skies to find it difficult to acclimatise to days such as these, despite how long he had resided upon the Caribbean island for.  
The hazy, blaring sun had flooded into his stuffy office in the fort all day, soaking the thick carpets and making his desk hot to the touch.  
His hair itched under the heavy horsehair wig, sweat made his starched white shirt cling uncomfortably to his back.  
He squirmed under his heavy, stiff coat. If he took it off, younger Navy men trotting around the fort would find reason to make themselves more comfortable as well, and untucked shirttails seemed an excuse for poor decorum.  
Heat waves made no example for poor presentation.  
So when the time came to set his pen into the ink dock and retreat to his carriage, his heart soared in thought of the big, dark, cool rooms of home.  
And of course, as of late, he had something more to look forward to when he arrived home, although he couldn't pin her down to little mental images like he did the rooms.

His wife never seemed to be in the same place twice; not once after all these months of marriage.  
He could not think of home and, like most men, think of a little wife perhaps curled upon a sofa, embroidering or hemming one of his shirts.  
He could not expect to arrive home to a note that she was indeed attending that luncheon and would be home in an hour's time.  
They had no children for him to think for his wife caring for, and if they did, she would probably spend her days carting it to obscure, adventurous places or would leave it with a nursemaid, depending on how maternal the girl turned out to be.  
It was almost a surprise to him when, upon stepping through the front door and handing his rigid, sweat dampened jacket to the butler and enquiring as to his wife's whereabouts that he was presented with a bland, normal answer.  
"Mrs. Norrington went for a walk in the garden, Sir."  
That ordinary?  
The Commodore made his way through his home and stepped onto the thick, coarse grass of his garden.

They had tried, upon colonising this area of the island, to create a little touch of England.  
His home was of the style of his family's manor in Gloucestershire- limestone and grand, with tall windows and balconies, nooks and crannies showing the complex architecture of the home.  
But when men had attempted to grow the grass found on English soil, had tried to cultivate a pretty rose garden and scatter daffodils and bluebells, it had been hard to disguise the fact that they were no longer in England.  
This was Jamaica, and Mother Nature quickly reclaimed her land. Coarse, dark Bermuda grass spouted from the ground. The roses were scorched to death in the heat, daffodil's golden heads shrivelled in the light.  
Finally the decision was made to nurture the tropical beauty of the acres of land owned by Port Royal's noblemen.  
Orchids, birds of paradise, huge bright frangipanis blinked up at him as he made his way through the vast, overgrown garden, eyes scanning for the similarly delicate beauty of his wife.  
Only the grand big Oak trees remained as a reminder that this was not a Caribbean jungle, that somebody had attempted to control Jamaica's soil like the King had its people. And it was under one of the vast canopies that he spotted movement, and slowly made his way under the boughs, hoping to jump, to surprise.  
But he stopped in shock, in curiosity as he moved closer, behind a hibiscus bush, brows knitting together as he inspected the sight more closely.  
Of course, she could not be simply reading in the cool of the shade. Of course she couldn't be sewing, or even sketching.  
A slip of pale peach silk was flung aside, narrowly missing his feet as it caught in the leaves of the bush.

Elizabeth was undressing, slowly dismantling her gown, tossing pieces of airy cream cotton and the finest silks his money could buy onto the warm grass.  
He was close enough to see that the skin she was bearing was coated in a thin slick of sweat, distant enough that she wasn't yet aware of his presence.  
He was frozen, not aware of what exactly she was doing or why. They had not been married for so long; the girl was still an exotic mystery to him, and the thought of something so entirely risqué was completely astounding to the man still bound in shirt and waistcoat, tights and britches and wig.  
His heart raced as he watched her slight frame become distinguishable from shedding layers of frills and lace, her perfect milky skin becoming exposed to the harsh sunlight, dappled with the lacy pattern of shadows casts from the tree's leaves.  
And finally, standing for all the birds and rabbits and trees to see, his little wife finally stopped upon reaching everything save from a delicate white shift.  
He watched her as though wildlife spotting as she smiled gently to herself and tiptoed further down the garden. No explanations for her actions came to mind until they were presented outwardly in front of him- she approached the sandstone water fountain growing moss in the cracks a few metres away, and stood upon its ledge, and with a loud giggle cast to the wind, Elizabeth Norrington plunged into its cool depths.  
James wasn't like most men. He was truly terrified of startling the beautiful, mysterious creature that only seemed to be beginning to grow at ease in his presence.  
So, although James was only human; although the risqué behaviour of his next of kin sent his pulse soaring and although the sight of beauty when her body emerged refreshed from the water with the thin breeze of cotton now rendered translucent and sticking to her sent a pulse to areas of his body which shouldn't pulse for the sake of propriety and manners… he stayed quiet.  
He moved from the bush to sit concealed under the tree, watching in fascination as she perched upon the edge of the fountain and pushed her hair back from her face, shift clinging around her thighs as she did so, and finally slipped back into the water, now simply splashing around, kicking up water and floating a little upon it.  
He was tantalised, mesmerised. She was one of the mermaids rumoured to tempt sailors away from their course and into rocks. She was a pixie, a sprite, gracing the tropics of his land with her magical presence.  
James didn't even realize that he was slowly approaching her.  
She did, but didn't pay him much heed until he himself slipped out of his trance of awe, realized how close he stood to the fountain, how the trickling of water into it came louder into his ears.  
He stopped, looking shocked.  
Elizabeth finally acknowledged him, moving to prop herself against the edge, waiting for her husband to speak, but no words were coming to James' mouth.  
For the handful of times he and his young wife had made love; awkwardly, self-consciously, really simply as a means to consummate and justify their union in matrimony, James could not feel like it was his right to witness such a sight.  
The beauty of her body was not for his eyes; even in those few brief moments of intimacy, it was hidden under the shadow of darkness and his expensive bed sheets.  
"It's a hot day," she finally stated, in what could have been interpreted as a greeting, a justification, an invitation.  
James nodded dumbly.  
"You've been here long?" again, interpretable as a bland greeting, all knowing, or even a little self conscious of being caught in such an act.  
He didn't know what to say- his voice caught in his throat, no matter what he said, he would look like a peeping Tom, a dirty old man caught creeping up on this young beauty.  
"You look warm." This time, the slight shake in her voice suggested that there was no open interpretation to her words. It was an invitation; the nymph was exposed as a woman, a product of a tight society as she saw her suggestion as bold, perhaps a little too so for her uptight husband.  
He stood in all of his clothing, entirely moistened by sweat, longing to be in there with her, in this world of nature, of beauty and fantasy which the pretty little thing whose finger held his wedding band was opening up to him, but was still unsure if he should.  
"Join me, it's nice."  
She wasn't discouraged by his silence. His face made him an open book to her. The man was enthralled, and she didn't mind.  
She playfully splashed him as silence prevailed, and finally he began to unbutton his waistcoat.

**This is just a vignette, I don't think it needs any explanation as to why James and Elizabeth ended up together. Let your own minds wander- I have my own personal explanation, but I don't want to bore you with it when it really isn't part of my story.**

**This will consist of two parts, the next one will probably up the rating, depending on how I decide to approach it… but yeah obviously I'd love you to read and review- big long reviews which include constructive criticism are obviously mucho appreciated.  
I know, I know, it's so easy to read something or even just skim through it, and then just type something else into your browser and forget about it, but the minute it takes to write a review would mean so much to me, as I read them and reread them and really listen to them, so t'would be nice.**


End file.
